“No,” said Vlad. “I was involved, I suppose, but only in trying to stay out of the way.”
“Well, what did happen?”
Vlad shook his head. “For the most part, I don’t know. There was almost a war, and there was conscription, and there was blood, and then it was over.”
“What’s conscription?”
“When they put you in the army or the navy and send you off to fight.”
“Oh. I should like that, I think.”
Vlad gave him another quick glance, then almost smiled, and said, “I wouldn’t know, myself. I’ve never been in the army.”
“Well, but you’ve killed people. It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”
Vlad laughed briefly. “Good question. There are soldiers who would disagree with you. I tend to think you’re right, though. Who’s to say?”
“I used to dream about being a soldier,” said Savn.
“Did you? That seems odd. On the one hand a soldier, on the other a physicker.”
“Well, but ... I see what you mean. But when I wanted to be a soldier it was, I don’t know, different.”
“I know,” said Vlad. “When one dreams of being a soldier, one imagines killing the enemy but not seeing the enemy bleed. Or seeing friends bleed, for that matter.”
Savn nodded slowly. “I was young and—” He shrugged and smiled a little. “I thought the uniforms looked so nice.”
“And the idea,” said Vlad, “of getting away from here?”
“Maybe, though I never thought about it that way. Have you ever known a soldier?”
“I’ve known warriors,” said Vlad.
“What’s the difference?”
“Another good question. I’m not sure, but that’s how they described themselves.”
“What were they like?”
“Arrogant, but not unpleasantly so.”
“Did they frighten you?”
Vlad laughed. “At one time or another, nearly everyone I’ve ever known has frightened me.”
“Even your friends?”
“Especially my friends. But then, I’ve had some unusual friends.”
“Yes, and one of them is a vampire.”
“Indeed.”
“That would frighten me,” said Savn thoughtfully. “There’s something about the idea of someone who should be dead that—You still say His Lordship is undead?”
“Yes.”
“Do you really mean it?”
“Yes.”
Savn shook his head. “I still don’t believe it.”
“I know.”
“How do you talk to someone who’s undead? I mean, isn’t it creepy?”
Vlad shrugged. “You get used to—” He stopped, his eyes straying toward the door. “Ah. You must be prescient. The minstrel, I suppose.”
Savn turned, and, indeed, a lady was just coming in the door to the smiles of Tern and the few patrons of his house. She wore a travel-worn white blouse and pants, with a green vest and a light green cloak. She carried a pack slung at her hip, and hanging at her back were a long-necked kordu and a shiny black horn—or pipe-like instrument that Savn didn’t recognize. Savn thought she was very pretty.
“An Issola,” remarked Vlad.
“Green and white,” agreed Savn. He was always excited when a minstrel arrived, but especially so when it was a noble, because they always had a wider variety of instruments and songs, and could tell stories of what happened in the courts of the highborn.
By whatever magic caused news to spread, people were beginning to drift into Tern’s house already, before the minstrel had finished speaking with Tem, presumably making arrangements for a room and meals in exchange for songs and stories, news and gossip.
Vlad said, “I’m going to have to speak with her, but that can wait.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Minstrels know things.”
“But will she speak to you?”
“Why not? Oh. Because I’m an Easterner? I suspect that won’t be a problem.”
Savn started to ask why, but changed his mind. He was, he decided, beginning to be able to anticipate when he was reaching a subject the Easterner wouldn’t want to discuss. The minstrel finished her discussion with Tem, and, with a surprisingly shy-looking smile directed at everyone present, she went back toward the chambers that Tem let out to travelers. Tem cleared his throat and said, “She’ll be back and play for us in a few minutes, after she’s refreshed herself.” This seemed to be a pleasing prospect to everyone. More and more people drifted into the house.
As they did, Savn couldn’t help but notice that many, perhaps most of them, looked at him sitting with the Easterner, then quickly looked away. He caught a glimpse of what might have been disgust in Fin’s expression, and dark-haired Lova, who was sitting next to Firi, seemed faintly puzzled. Lan and Tuk were sitting together with some of their friends, and, though Tuk only looked at the table in front of him, Lan seemed, for a moment, to be looking at Savn unpleasantly.
For the first time, he began to seriously question whether he ought to be seen with Vlad so much. Vlad looked at him with a slightly amused expression, and Savn wondered if his thoughts were being read. But Vlad said nothing, and presently the minstrel returned.
She had changed to a loose, clean, white blouse with green embroidery, and her leggings were a light, fresh green. Her hair was brown, with a subdued but unmistakable noble’s point, and her eyes, very dark, stood out sharply in contrast to her complexion and clothing. She carried both of her instruments, and set them at a table in the corner that was hastily cleared for her. Her teeth were white when she smiled.
“Greetings, my friends,” she said in a melodic, carrying voice. “My name is Sara. I play the reed-pipe and the kordu, and I sing, and I even know a few stories. If there were a drink in front of me, I might play something.”
The drink was provided quickly. She smiled her thanks and sipped from whatever she’d been given, nodded approval, and poured some of the liquid over the mouthpiece of the long black flute.
“What’s she doing?” whispered Savn.
Vlad shrugged. “It must be good for it. She wouldn’t wreck her own reed.”
“I’ve never seen one of those before.”
“Neither have I.”
“I wonder what it sounds like.”
This question was answered almost at once, when a low, rich dark sound emerged and at once spread as if to fill every corner of the room. She went up and down the scale once or twice and the instrument went both higher and lower than Savn would have guessed. Then she began to play an eerie, arhythmic tune that Savn had never heard; he settled back to enjoy the music. Vlad’s face was expressionless as he studied the minstrel.
She sat on a table, one foot resting on a chair, tapping slowly and steadily, though Savn could not find a rhythm that she might be tapping to. When the tune ended, she played another, this one more normal, and, while Savn couldn’t remember its name, it was very familiar and seemed to please Tern’s guests.
After playing the pipe for a while, she picked up the other instrument, quickly tuned it, and with an expression of sweet innocence, began singing a scandalously bawdy song called “I’ll Never Trust a Shepherd, I’ll Never Trust a Thief,” that, without ever saying anything directly, implied things about her character and pleasures that Savn found unlikely. Everyone pounded on the tables, laughed, and bought Sara more drinks.
After that, she could do no wrong, and when she began singing an old, sweet ballad about Chalara and Auiri, everyone sighed and settled back to become lost in music and sentimentality. In all, she performed for about two hours. Savn liked her singing voice; she chose good songs; and there were stories he had never heard before, as well as some that were as familiar to him as his sister’s face. Eventually Sara stood and bowed to the room at large, making it seem as if she were bowing to every man or woman present. Savn found himself whistling and slapping the table with everyone else. She said, “You are all charming and very kind. With your permission, I will have something to eat, and then, if you wish, I will play again in the evening and tell you what news I have.”